


all the way to the bone (you're my a-team)

by red_to_black



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Eventual Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slash, it's a damn cop au! who'da thunk it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 04:37:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17759918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_to_black/pseuds/red_to_black
Summary: He's not like other cops, he thinks, because he can't switch it off and he can't turn away. He feels everything, too deeply, and it cuts him to the quick.He never stopped to consider that maybe it's not a weakness.(Brett and Liam meet at the same police station and become partners, and something more.)





	all the way to the bone (you're my a-team)

**Author's Note:**

> oh hey i'm back with a long one-shot. side note about this: it's largely based on my own experiences and feelings, so while i don't know exact law enforcement practices around the world, this is accurate to what it's like working in law enforcement where i live.
> 
> plenty of warnings for this one, guys, so please read them: mentions of suicide, domestic violence (not happening to brett or liam), psychological issues, injury recovery, and drug use (also not brett or liam). this is my way of coping with what i do for a living. it was also written in the last 3 days and barely proof read, so apologies for mistakes.

The police station looks like something straight out of Resident Evil 2, like the goddamn Raccoon Police Department in the middle of it all, when the shit had hit the fan and people had fled the city but no one was dead yet. Tacky speckled tiles, ornate but cheap looking wooden accents, the works. And the worst part is, Brett can’t even figure out where the damn change room is.

He turns around, blinks. His gear is heavy - fifty pounds of tac vest and at least another ten pounds in clothes and shoes don’t carry themselves around, and he’s sweating a little.

“Yo, Sasquatch.”

He turns. Someone’s standing in the open doorway, looking irritated. He’s short, got dark brown hair and big blue eyes. Brett would probably think he was pretty hot if the guy wasn’t glaring at him.

“Huh?” he asks.

“You’re blocking the door,” the guy says pointedly.

“Oh.” He steps aside. “Right. Uh - lockers?”

“Follow me,” the guy says.

He does. There’s no assigned locker - he opens four before he finds one that isn’t taken, dumps his stuff, and changes into his uniform, making sure he has his name badge. By the time he leaves the room - which only adds to the creepy horror movie ambiance with its weakly flickering exit lights - the other guy is gone, leaving him to find the muster room on his own.

When he gets there, he’s confronted with about twenty other newly-graduated police officers, a lot of them from his squad and some from the squad ahead. The room is bustling with activity - there are sergeants laughing with each other and at least one person writing up the designated teams on a whiteboard.

“Heeeey, buddy!”

He turns, surprised by the enthusiastic voice. A square-faced thirty-something lopes towards him, grinning from ear to ear.

“I know you,” he says, and shakes Brett’s hand. “You were in the squad behind us, at the academy! Fearless leader said he saw you in the locker room.”

“Fearless leader?” Brett asks, only now remembering that he had his fitness testing with this guy and did a few practical assessments with him. His last name is Rose, if Brett remembers correctly.

Rose nods in the direction of his “fearless leader”, who turns out to be the guy who showed Brett the change room. He’s guessing the term of endearment means that this guy was their squad leader.

“Fuck,” the guy mutters after looking at the board. He walks away, clipping his belt on with the air of someone who’s hard done by.

“We call ‘im Sparky,” the tall guy says, and Brett surreptitiously glances at his nametag - he can only make out the last name, which he already knew. “'Cause of 'is temper.”

Brett couldn’t give two shits about the guy’s temper. He’s filling out his undershirt and looks strong and confident and ready, which is roughly the exact opposite of what Brett’s feeling right now. Now that he’s thinking and getting a closer look, he vaguely remembers this guy from the academy, but it’s easy to lose people in the sea of blue.

He feels a little awkward, decides against saying hello - what are the chances the dude even remembers him? - and heads to the whiteboard. He finds his name in a box of five others, locates the name of his operator for the day, and then tries to work out where they’re going.

“Where the fuck is Chirmside?” he wonders aloud.

“Middle of nowhere,” a cranky voice mutters next to him, and he turns to find the object of his attention glaring at the board with what looks like serious, and personal, affront. “Why not just say they don’t wanna do fuckin’ paperwork?”

“Which one are you?” Brett asks, a little amused and a little worried that a sergeant will overhear what they’re saying.

He points to the board, the name underneath Brett’s - Dunbar, and now Brett remembers that his first name is Liam. He won the academic high achiever award and the physical high achiever award from his graduating squad.

“Chirmside,” Liam says, voice dripping in disgust, “may as well be out in the middle of fucking Wyoming. You know what’s in Wyoming?”

“Nothing?” Brett offers.

“Exactly.” Liam huffs a breath, stirring the errant hairs flopping over his forehead. “I get that all the senior members are old and crusty and don’t wanna do shit, and that this is where they go for their careers to die, but some of us actually wanna learn shit before going to our permanent stations.”

Brett grins. “Aren’t you kinda young to be this jaded already?”

Liam blinks up at him. “I’m twenty-three, dude.”

“Yeah… cause that’s so old.”

“Older than you,” Liam says, eyeing Brett’s cleanly-shaven face with an arched eyebrow. Liam himself has a bit of stubble, enough of a hint that he’ll probably get told to shave today.

“I’m twenty six,” Brett teases. “Older and taller.”

Liam narrows his eyes. He looks like he’s about to say something, but the guy whose last name is Rose claps Brett on the shoulder and laughs.

“You know, when I told you we call 'im Sparky because of his temper, it wasn’t a challenge to rile 'im up.”

“Can’t help it,” Brett says, and he doesn’t even mind when Liam deliberately runs over his foot with the gear trolley.

~*~

They both end up in Chirmside, which, as Liam had said, is in the middle of nowhere and so deeply immersed in a wintry fog that it looks like Silent goddamn Hill. He makes the observation aloud to Liam, who’s standing next to him as they set up a surveillance strip along the road.

“Silent Hill, huh?” Liam asks. “Yeah. Hang on.”

He takes out the high-powered LED light strapped to his tac vest and shines it into the darkness, illuminating only a thin stretch of road, and grins.

“Any little kids show up, I’m burnin’ a clip into them on principle alone,” he snickers.

“Yeah, Sarge won’t mind that,” Brett says dryly, thinking of the cantankerous old fossil that’s been put in charge of their ragtag little group. “Then again, he probably wouldn’t notice.”

“Fuckin’-A,” Liam replies, and Brett’s not entirely sure what that means, but he likes talking to Liam, at least. He thought these six weeks being deployed out to country areas would suck… but it’s not so bad.

They set up on the side of the road to run numberplates and breath-test people they think might be drink driving. Brett watches Liam carefully - _look after your partner_ , they’ve had drummed into them. _Your partner is your lifeline, you look after them no matter what._ So Brett watches to make sure Liam doesn’t get hit by any cars.

It’s ingrained in him. Even on basic shifts, quiet shifts, he can’t shake the sense of duty, that they’re part of a family and that he looks out for them. He hopes they feel the same.

“What’s on for tomorrow?” he asks, as they sit in the car and run numberplates when people get close enough.

“Day off,” Liam says. “Just moved, so I’ve got some shit to do.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mm. You?”

“Working. Don’t start until four though.”

“Good luck,” Liam says. “You’re working with McMorrow and you probably won’t finish until two or three in the morning.”

“God,” Brett groans. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

“Don’t mention it.”

They head to McDonald’s at five or so for some dinner. Two small girls cower behind their mother’s legs, staring up at them in fear.

“Sorry,” she apologises quickly. “They’re scared of police because you have guns.”

Brett sobers immediately. There’s nothing like other people’s fear of him to impress upon him just how much power he has, and how people before him have used it to hurt, not protect. He wants to say aloud that he’s gentle, that he never wants to hurt anyone, but he doesn’t think it’ll help.

Liam squats down on the ground and smiles at the two girls. “Hey,” he says. “My name’s Liam.”

They look a little less afraid and blink at him.

“See?” their mother soothes. “They’re not all scary.”

“I’m just a goofball in a uniform,” Liam says, and promptly pulls a cross-eyed expression that makes them both giggle. “Ah, they make noise!”

“It’s great for you to speak to them,” their mother says, smiling at them both. “They always think they’re in trouble when they see police.”

Some police have a bad rap, and they should, Brett thinks. He takes his oath seriously and he’s here to protect, not to hurt, but there are too many people who don’t know that because of the way they’ve been treated in the past.

“How come you have a gun?” the older of the girls asks.

Liam doesn’t miss a beat. “It makes me look cooler,” he says, and they both laugh again, not hiding behind their mother’s legs anymore. “Hey, this is my friend Brett.”

“He’s tall,” the younger one says, staring up at him.

“I’m not that tall.” He squats as well, fishes inside his vest. “Do you guys like stickers?”

“Yeah!” they exclaim excitedly.

“Well, here.” He produces two sheets of stickers and hands them over, smiling. “See? We’re not so bad.”

They talk to the girls while they wait for dinner, and Brett’s vaguely aware that they’re being filmed. Liam notices too, he’s sure, but he doesn’t say anything, just laughs and accepts his fate when he gets a unicorn sticker plastered to his forehead.

It’s his first shift working with Liam, but it won’t be the last.

~*~

He survives three more shifts and realises that the crew is what makes the job.

At the moment, their tasking is simple: run numberplates and do breath tests on people they suspect to be under the influence. The next three shifts are okay, but he doesn’t have the easy banter with his new workmates as he does with Liam.

The fourth shift, the stars align and he ends up in the patrol car with Liam, who’s driving. He looks tired tonight, more than he did the last time Brett saw him.

“You okay?” he asks.

Liam yawns. “I hate moving.”

Brett smiles. “Yeah, it’s shit. Still unpacking?”

“And building furniture, and trying to get more furniture… it never fucking ends,” Liam groans. “Not that I had a choice unless I wanted to commute for an hour ten every day. Not to mention my car is a shitbox on wheels-”

“You need help picking stuff up?” Brett asks.

Liam blinks. “If you have time, that’d be great. I’ll pay you in pizza and beer.”

“Just the right currency,” Brett grins.

~*~

Brett has a truck with a large bed in it, and so it works out well for him to help Liam at IKEA.

“Everyone here walks like they’ve been collectively lobotomised,” Liam grumbles, eliciting a few odd looks.

Brett laughs. “Just pick something.”

They end up going home with a wardrobe, coffee table, and some bookshelves. Liam’s got a tool kit, thank God, and Brett’s not much help with actually building the stuff.

It takes all day, but they get everything into the apartment and built. Liam’s got a square, one-bedroom apartment, panted cool white inside except for one dark blue feature wall. The curtains are soft gauze - remnants of the previous tenant, supposedly - and a dark grey couch dominates most of the living space.

It’s a nice place, Brett reflects. Smaller than his, but it has everything it needs and some things it doesn’t, like a coffee machine and four different gaming consoles.

Brett gets a glimpse through to the bedroom. Black sheets with a navy duvet over the top, rumpled. Liam doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who makes his bed, really. Then again, he also didn’t seem like the kind of guy who has a collection of mini cacti, but they’re lined up cheerfully along the windowsill in the kitchen, and they all look healthy.

“I lived with a squadmate for a while,” Liam explains. “Hayden. She got me those. I got kind of attached to them.”

Brett smiles. “I like them. Maybe I should get plants.”

“Yeah apparently they improve the feng shui of the room, or whatever,” Liam replies. He hauls the coffee table upright and stands; he’s sweating, now, a light sheen of it all over his body. “Fuck, thank God that’s over.”

“Looks good,” Brett notes.

Liam tilts one shoulder. “Can’t go wrong with white furniture, right? Like, how bad can you fuck up monochrome?”

Brett laughs and snags a slice of pizza.

“Thanks for the help,” Liam says. “I would’ve had to get it delivered or hired a van or something. I feel like I owe you more than pizza.”

“How about more beer and a shot at the new Resident Evil 2 game?” Brett asks hopefully.

Liam laughs. “Done.”

~*~

They settle into an odd, informal routine after that.

Brett doesn’t have many friends in this city, being that he moved for the purpose of the academy. Liam invites him to the housewarming party he throws, where he meets Hayden and a few of Liam’s other friends.

After that, things are just kind of easy.

They work similar shifts and it becomes acceptable for both of them to show up at the other’s house with pizza after finishing work at two in the morning. It’s sporadic - Brett’s likely to fall right asleep when he gets home, but Liam will stay up for a while - but it’s comfortable.

Mostly, they end up working the same shifts, in the same teams. When they’re finally moved on to work in pairs, rather than in groups, they end up together more often than not. Liam’s smaller and generally reacts faster in a pinch, but Brett plans better and his size is intimidating enough to discourage bad behaviour.

The job is… unexpectedly weird, even for Brett. At 10AM Monday, they’re looking for nineteen stolen garden gnomes and Liam’s attempting to pacify the old woman they belong to. At noon, they’re taking a statement from a rape victim.

Brett gets home on those days and feels exhausted just from the mood whiplash, just from trying to keep up and keep a careful, professional facade in place, even while he’s internally screaming that he’s only had the job for a month and that they should ask someone else.

They go on a drug bust where Liam’s picked up by the vest and thrown into the wall. It’s the first time Brett draws his gun while working, and it works, thank God - even crackheads with knives seem to know he’s not fucking around - but he’s shaken for the rest of the shift.

Liam’s alright. Chagrined about how easily he was thrown - God, wasn’t bad enough that I was destined to be five-foot-five, apparently I look like a decent replacement for a goddamn battering ram - but alright. Brett’s fucked after the shift, offline, mind quietly buzzing with the thought that he nearly had to shoot someone.

The second time, they’re tasing some dude who’s on so much meth he’s exited their plane of existence, and the guy just keeps getting up even though Liam’s using his biggest, baddest _stay down or I’ll tase you again!_ cop voice. Most people don’t fuck with tasers - they’re too painful and getting the barbs removed hurts like hell - but Brett imagines that when the room is a kaleidoscope of hallucinations that are actively trying to kill you, caring about a little taser is the least of your worries.

They’re standing in the change rooms after their shift, and it’s seven PM. Liam’s combing his hands through his hair, and stops suddenly, looking at himself. Brett’s still hearing the click-click-click of an igniting taser like an obnoxious Bunsen burner in his ears.

“Liam?” Brett asks after a few moments, a little worried.

Liam shakes himself, shakes his head, and keeps raking his hair back. “That was fuckin’ _cooked_ , man,” he says flatly. “Our jobs are _fucked_. You know I nearly forgot about the naked guy covered in fleas from the start of the shift because of the guy screaming about homicidal zebras at the end?”

Brett laughs, strangled and helpless, because it’s funny but it really shouldn’t be. “Yeah.”

“What kind of jobs do we have where you just, you know, casually forget about a double-knife-wielding naked dude covered in fleas? What is that?”

“That was your brain just noping the fuck out of dealing with it,” Brett says. “Overload. It’s quit, or it wants to get paid overtime.”

“I’d like to get paid overtime too,” Liam grumbles, adjusting his shirt. “Let’s hit the Turkish joint on Sydney Road. I hear their bread would be worth human sacrifice.”

~*~

The next shift is a correspondence shift, because they’re snowed under with briefs. Brett doesn’t mind much - Liam’s got a bit more experience in that department than him, and they’re quickly getting reputations as relentless go-getters, people who catch bad guys and put them away.

“This guy has two eighty seven priors,” Liam mutters, amazed. “And he’s twenty nine. Bro. That’s like… three years older than you.”

“How is he not in jail?”

“Hmm, he’s probably white.” Liam clicks on the guy’s photo. “Ohh, look at that! One for one today.”

Things Brett has learned about Liam: he’s fiercely loyal to people, especially those he works with, he’s got a never-say-die attitude and amazing work ethic. If he gets tired, it doesn’t show. He can be quiet, and he can seem like he’s not paying attention, but he always is.

He’s also very vocal about unfairness. “Some people don’t fucking deserve this job,” he spits one day, when they’ve watched the news and seen that EJ Bradford has been shot and killed in an “unfortunate case of mistaken identity” by cops, cops that aren’t them but wear the uniform and wield the power they do. “We’re supposed to fucking protect people.”

Brett doesn’t argue. Can’t. One of the reasons he joined was because of the unfairness he saw, and he wants to do better. Fixing the organisation isn’t going to happen in the next few months or even years but goddamn he can make a start.

He looks over. Liam’s in sweats and a loose black t-shirt and his eyes are simmering with the same fire Brett can feel inside, and this job is weird. It’s weird because you’d live and die for the people you work with, these people who think the same way you do and are driven by the same intrinsic desire to help.

He tells himself that’s why his feeling about Liam have changed, a little, that it’s got nothing to do with the way Liam looks when he laughs or that Liam trusts him enough to give him a key to his apartment, to drive in the patrol car, to have his back. He tells himself it’s got even less to do with the way Liam loves kids and animals.

He tells himself it’s the job, the total reliance on his partner to keep him alive, and nothing else.

~*~

February fourteenth is the day The Call comes.

The Call - the one they’re warned about in the academy, the one that breaks their lives apart or threatens to, that one job that really fucking gets to you, cuts you all the way to the fucking bone. 

Liam and Brett are about to stop at McDonald’s so they can get some stupidly sugary coffee and maybe fight their way through night shift on fumes, but fate has other plans. They’re on the corner of Little Grey and Kirkland Street when the radio crackles to life.

“Any units available for a welfare check on Inkerman?” the dispatcher’s voice says.

Liam takes the receiver with a resigned sigh. They’ve been working nights, doubles, overtime hours extending to fourteen, fifteen hour shifts and they’re fucking dog-tired and ready for bed. But this is their job and they chose it.

“Education 900, this is Green 710,” Liam says, and he sounds tired even to Brett. “We’re available and in the area.”

“Received, 710. It’s on your plate. Complainant is a friend by the name of Chelsea Pendergast. She hasn’t seen or heard from her neighbour for a few days now, and she’s getting concerned for him. She stated she’s available to talk to at the scene if you need. Received?”

“Education 900, received. We’re on our way.” Liam hangs the radio up and turns to Brett. “Welfare check,” he sighs. “Should be easy, right? Couple of referrals, make sure the neighbour’s okay, get outta there.”

They’ve done welfare checks before so Brett isn’t particularly concerned as they head to the address. Most times, people are alright - they’re angry at their family members or have gone away without notice, but so far, they’ve always turned up.

Something feels different when they pull up at the block of apartments. The night is still. Liam leans forward to look out at the scenery.

“Second floor walkup,” he says. “You cover.”

It’s not a nice area. Liam walks with his pepper spray out and Brett covers the rear of the stairs as they head up to the apartment. It’s quiet, save for a TV blaring in someone’s living room.

The apartment they stop in front of is quiet. Liam knocks.

“Police, open up. You’re not in trouble, we’re just worried about you.”

Nothing. Brett feels a little cold; Liam’s arms are covered in goosebumps, bags black under his eyes. He looks up at Brett cautiously.

“Police,” he says again, and knocks louder. “If you don’t open the door we’re going to break it down. We don’t want to do that.”

Something smells weird, Brett thinks.

No reply. Liam shrugs. “Stand back,” he says to Brett, and now he knows they’re both thinking that something is very, very wrong, that this is the first time a welfare check hasn’t elicited a response from someone who’s home.

Liam kicks in the door. It’s not a strong door, and the lock breaks with the first shot. Liam enters first, stepping almost soundlessly over the broken wood.

“Do we have a name?” he whispers.

“No,” Brett murmurs back. “Complainant didn’t give details, location check revealed nothing…”

There are pictures on the wall, and he steps closer. His throat closes.

He recognises these people. He knows these people - well. Tommy was a friend from college, before Brett joined. Brett had no idea he’d moved to the area-

“Brett.”

There’s a hand on his arm. He blinks, realising he’s suffered total auditory exclusion. Liam’s watching him worriedly.

“I know him,” he says, pointing to Tommy’s face. “I know this guy.”

Liam looks pale and sick, and that’s when Brett realises the smell is getting worse and worse. He’s never smelt death but somehow he knows this is it from the way Liam’s eyes are blown with shock and the way his hands are shaking.

“We have to clear the house,” he says.

“No,” Liam says. “I’ll do it. You stay here. Figure - figure out who lives here.”

Liam knows what they’re going to find and he doesn’t want Brett to see it and normally Brett would insist, but this is his friend. He doesn’t want to know, yet.

So he lets Liam go and explore the apartment. He goes to the kitchen, where meat is rotting in the fridge and there’s congealed milk in a bowl on the counter. The top drawer holds letters - overdue bills all addressed to Mr. Thomas Tonkins.

There’s a script for Zoloft there too. It was filled three days ago. The pill bottle, overturned on its side next to a plastic cup, is empty.

“Fuck,” Brett says hollowly.

He hears a window open, and the sounds of someone retching. He stares down at the overdue bills in his hand, hears Liam’s voice crackle through the radio on his vest - Education 900, we’re code 5 at scene. One deceased. Requesting crime scene investigation units and forensics to attend immediately - and he stares.

They’re going to have to do a death notice.

~*~

Liam looks pale and drawn when he exits the bedroom. Brett opens his mouth to ask, but Liam shakes his head and leans on the counter to wipe at his forehead. He’s covered with clammy sweat. This is Liam’s first body.

“Don’t go in there,” he says, and Brett offers him gum.

Crime scene units and forensics show up only five minutes later, lights on but no sirens - no one is hurt here. Liam guides them through a clinical retracing of their steps, from what they did in the kitchen to how he found the body. There’s nothing behind his eyes - he’s Officer Dunbar. Liam, the Liam who threw up and was shaking when he left the bedroom, is gone.

“Are you boys right to inform the family?” the night sergeant asks softly.

“Yes,” Brett says, before Liam can say anything. He went to school with Tommy, then college. He knows Tommy’s family almost as well as his own; he won’t let some stranger break the news. “We just need the address.”

Liam looks at him sadly. Even mired in grief, Brett knows how to cover the personal attachment with an investigative trail. If they know he’s familiar with the victim, they won’t let him do it.

He almost expects Liam to say something, to rat him out. Liam doesn’t, though, just hands over all his notes to crime scene and jots down the address given to them.

They get into the car; Brett’s driving. He stares out the windshield for a moment, waiting for their computer system to boot up.

“I didn’t know he was depressed,” he says.

Liam leans his head back, runs his fingers through his hair in what Brett now knows to be a sign of distress. “Okay,” he says.

They don’t do death notices by phone call because it’s the equivalent of ending a long-term relationship via text. It doesn’t take them long to reach the house, and Brett’s fine right up until he gets out of the car.

Something cold curdles in his stomach. He puts his head on the roof of the car.

Liam stands next to him, shivering a little in the night air, his face totally and completely composed. Brett knows him well enough now to know that it’s fake, that Liam is feeling, that he’s keeping it together with a few loose strings.

“Brett, I’ve got this one,” he says quietly.

“I owe it to her-”

“I’ve got this one,” Liam says, and his voice is still gentle, but he’s showing no hint of giving it up - he’s firm. Brett’s not gonna tell his friend’s mom that he’s dead.

He straightens up and they walk to the door. The lights flick on inside, like someone knows they’re coming. They only did one lesson on death notices in the academy, it’s not enough, he’s about to blow this family’s life out of the water and all he has to prepare is the five minutes he spent reading the fucking pamphlet-

The door opens, and Mrs. Tonkins is standing there in a nightrobe, blonde hair tousled and flowing down over her shoulder. “Brett?” she asks, and then notices the uniform.

She goes white. She covers her face with her hand. Her pupils blow out until her eyes are black.

“Are you Eva Tonkins?” Liam asks evenly. Brett can see his hands shaking.

“Y-Yes. I am.” She’s not crying yet-

“I’m Officer Dunbar, this is Officer Talbot,” Liam says. “I’m sorry to inform you that your son has been found deceased this evening.”

It’s textbook in its delivery. He says it quickly, like ripping off a bandaid, and while he speaks clearly, it’s not cold - there’s warmth and compassion in his voice. Brett could never have done it with such grace. Even as he looks at Liam, he can tell that his Liam - the one he knows to fret over baby animals - is locked up somewhere where his emotions won’t get the best of him. This is Officer Dunbar, not Liam, and there’s a distinction.

“No,” Eva moans, and she crumples to the floor like she’s nothing more than paper. She rocks, arms around her stomach, mouth open in a silent scream of pain. Brett can’t do this, but he has to.

“We’ll make you tea,” he says, and picks her up to take her inside.

~*~

He’s put on psych leave for a week or so.

He avoids Liam. Mostly because he’s afraid he won’t get his friend, but his officer, and he really needs his friend right now.

Avoidance doesn’t really work. Liam’s not subtle and doesn’t take subtlety, and he shows up at Brett’s apartment on the fourth night with beer, pizza, and a haunted expression that tells Brett he’s been suffering just as much as anyone would, facing that.

“People think it’s sexy,” Brett says, after downing five beers.

Liam looks at him silently. He’s got the sixth from the pack, and he’s been quietly peeling the label off but not drinking. He didn’t eat much either.

“Being a cop,” Brett explains, seeing the question in Liam’s eyes. “So many people think it’s sexy. That it’s all, all Law and Order, all Brooklyn 99, Chicago P.D. They don’t see us do that shit. Nobody puts that on TV.”

Liam stays quiet, but his body is curled towards Brett’s. He blinks once.

“I feel everything, man,” Brett says, his voice rising with the need for Liam to understand. “I just - I’m not like you, I can’t switch it off or lock it away. I feel everything, all the time, I can’t turn it off and I can’t look away from it. Every single dispatch we go to cuts me. I didn’t think it would be like this-”

“You make it sound like feeling makes you weak,” Liam counters. “It doesn’t. There’s no shame in feeling. It makes you good. If you feel nothing for these people… how are you supposed to care?”

“I don’t want to,” Brett says, and his voice breaks.

“I’m sorry,” Liam replies. “I know he was your friend. I’m sorry.”

He leans into Liam for a bit, cries, and Liam’s shoulder is steady underneath him, doesn’t move until Brett’s cried out and drunk and Liam uses his free arm to start coaxing water and food into him.

When he wakes in the morning, they’re curled on the couch together, his head in Liam’s lap and Liam slumped down against the arm, and Brett thinks that this is the only place he knows for sure he’s safe.

~*~

He gets back to work after a week, and he manages.

He learns to weaponise the way he feels. He learns how to change a situation, to respond to it. He knows how and which feelings to magnify and the ones he needs to stifle. He learns how to use it to his advantage.

Liam’s right. It’s not a weakness; it’s a strength.

He and Liam start going to the gym together again, a cautious routine built on the few mornings off they have at the same time and the strict but unspoken rule that they leave shop talk at the shop. Their job doesn’t follow them into the gym, and Brett’s grateful for that.

“I’m getting a cat,” Liam announces one day, and that’s how Brett spends his day off trawling around city shelters, after Liam, looking at cats and kittens.

Predictably, Liam picks the sickest, weakest kitten he finds at the third shelter they go to. The thing was rejected by its mother and left to die, and it purrs pathetically when Liam holds it, scrabbling until it’s under his chin. Brett knows in that instant that they’re leaving with this particular cat.

“Cosmo,” Liam says on the way home.

Brett’s driving. Liam’s got his hand in the cardboard box the kitten is in. Brett can hear it mewl pathetically.

“What?” Brett asks.

“Cosmo,” Liam says contentedly. “I’m gonna name him Cosmo.”

“That’s… there’s so many better names than Cosmo.”

“Like what?”

Brett peers into the box at the next traffic light. The kitten is black and white and fluffy.

“Oreo?” he suggests.

Liam gives him a flat, unimpressed look. “Do you know how many cats are named Oreo, you piece of shit?” he asks. “He’s special.”

Brett laughs. “He’s a cat like many other cats.”

“He’s my cat, so he’s special, and he’s too special to be named Oreo, so I’m naming him Cosmo, and we’re not sharing custody so you don’t get a say,” Liam huffs. Brett laughs again, because what else can he do? Liam’s ridiculous in the best ways.

They stop at PetSmart and get a cat tree and a litter box and a thousand other things the kitten probably doesn’t need. Still, Liam seems happy, and the kitten grows a lot stronger with his attention over the next few weeks.

For a while, life goes back to normal. They have pizza nights at Liam’s and Chinese food nights at Brett’s, they go to bars and take shots and play pool and talk shit, sometimes with colleagues. Liam gets a court case that makes him decide he hates defence lawyers and they commiserate over that.

Brett goes out with old friends who aren’t Liam on a Friday night. That’s when he finds out Liam’s gay, or at the very least not straight, from the fervent make out session he’s having with someone in the corner.

“Someone you know?” Caleb asks him.

Brett swallows. Liam hasn’t noticed him. “Yeah, you could say that,” he says.

He’s not sure what’s bothering him. That Liam didn’t tell him, or that it’s apparently not even a fucking secret and he was just too dense to work it out.

He wakes up the next morning with a pounding hangover and a text message on his phone from Liam that says _so are you panicking yet?_ And that’s when he pulls his head out of his ass and messages back _idc that you’re gay_

His phone pings. _I’m not. I’m bi. ___

__He chews his lip. Finally, _fine idc that you’re not straight or whatever__ _

__He gets a text back around lunchtime, _lol_ , and then there’s a knock on his door. Liam’s here with Indian food and everything goes back to normal._ _

__~*~_ _

__They spend the next week building a new equilibrium._ _

__“How come you didn’t tell me?” he asks, and Liam shrugs._ _

__“It didn’t come up.”_ _

__Fair, Brett supposes._ _

__It becomes almost a game. The whole world is Liam’s oyster, which Brett wastes no time pointing out as he grabs Liam’s phone and starts frantically swiping right on Tinder, using his height to his advantage._ _

__He only gives it back when Liam’s getting all sorts of pervy messages. And when he’s kneed in the dick. Unappreciated, but also probably fair._ _

__“We should go for a walk,” Liam says one night._ _

__“That sounds fucking awful,” Brett says, focussed entirely on Megan Fox in the only Transformers movie ever worth watching._ _

__“You’re such a fucking Scorpio,” Liam mutters._ _

__“I - huh?”_ _

__Liam glares back at him. “You heard me.”_ _

__“You - you believe in astronomy?”_ _

__“Astrology, dipshit.”_ _

__“Wow, you totally do.” Brett grins. “Gay.”_ _

__Liam launches across the couch, and God, they’re not cops because they’re unfit or shy away from fighting. Liam’s fucking strong - smaller than Brett but more compact - and Brett’s howling with laughter as Liam pins him and tickles him mercilessly._ _

__This, he decides, is maybe not the healthiest way to cope, but it’s normal for them._ _

__~*~_ _

__They get info on a drug stash the next night and head to the house at three in the morning, sneaking through the bushes with a warrant tucked into Liam’s tac vest. Warrants are their bread and butter, their “I can do what I want and here’s the paper that says so”, and so they don’t need to worry about being charged for unlawfully entering a premises._ _

__The guy’s a dick. They’ve known about him for a while, some bigshot commercial oil owner with too many houses - who needs more than one house? - and delusions of grandeur. Brett would probably never admit it but he hates those people even more than he hates dealers. These are the people who get away with it._ _

__They knock on the door and receive no answer, even though there are lights on and a television murmuring. Liam shrugs one shoulder, reaches down, and opens the front door._ _

__It’s unlocked. What kind of idiot drug kingpin leaves their door unlocked? He can see Liam’s thinking the same thing, almost makes a crack about Breaking Bad, but they enter quietly._ _

__The living room is dark and the TV temporarily quiet when they see a shadow move, and there’s a gasp._ _

__“Police!” Liam bellows, and Brett flicks the light on just in time to see the other half their team enter through the back door._ _

__He blinks._ _

__Their target - a guy by the name of Sullivan Lachlan - _who would trust anyone with a last name as a first name and first name as a last name_ , Brett wonders - is in a compromising position, to say the least. He’s got a rope around his neck and it’s rigged to a doorknob and at first, Brett thinks he’s trying to commit suicide, albeit awkwardly._ _

__Then the TV screen moans, “Come on my _face_ ,” and he realises he’s walked in on a dude indulging in his kink. Which is, apparently, autoerotic asphyxiation. Brett can’t say he’s tried it, or wants to._ _

__“Bro,” Liam says. “There are like, stores that sell stuff for this.”_ _

__“What the fuck are you doing in my house?!” Sullivan Lachlan spits, trying to untie himself and stuff his limp dick in his pants at the same time._ _

__“Oh, that.” Liam reaches into his vest and produces the warrant. “I’m Officer Dunbar, this is-”_ _

__“ _Oh, baby, harder! _” the TV shrieks.___ _

____Liam looks like he’s about to flip. “This is Officer Talbot,” he finishes flatly. “We have a warrant to search the premises for suspected possession and trafficking of a drug of dependence.”_ _ _ _

____“I want a lawyer,” Sullivan hisses furiously. He still hasn’t succeeded in getting the rope untied._ _ _ _

____“Like that, don’t you, you slut,” the TV growls._ _ _ _

____“I’d arrest you,” Liam says, staring in vague bewilderment at the scene, “but uh, looks like you’ve gone ahead and done it yourself.”_ _ _ _

____Sullivan slumps helplessly; he’s done and he knows it. “What do you want?” he asks. “I’ll - okay, I’ll give you names, alright? I’ll cooperate. What do you want me to do?”_ _ _ _

____Liam gestures at the guy’s dick. “First thing’s first,” he says. “Put that away.” He looks at the TV. “And turn that shit off.”_ _ _ _

____~*~_ _ _ _

____They find two kilos of crystal meth in the guy’s house, along with some unidentifiable pills and enough weed to keep an entire college campus pacified. The K9 units brought in to assist go haywire._ _ _ _

____“You’re my favourite officers,” the Sergeant sighs when the strike team returns to the station, tired but happy. “Take the day off tomorrow. You did good work.”_ _ _ _

____They go out to celebrate. It’s him and Liam plus four officers they haven’t really worked with before, two women and another guy. They take shots off each other’s bodies and Brett staggers back to Liam’s place at four in the morning, falls asleep on the couch and wakes up to Liam’s asshole cat kneading his stomach and purring._ _ _ _

____Liam staggers out of the bedroom sometime past eleven, looking grey with the hangover and like he wants to die. “I don’t care how much he likes us,” he groans, leaning over the sink and swallowing heavily. “If I ever have to give orders to a guy who’s strangling himself for the funsies again, I’m fucking quitting.”_ _ _ _

____“It’s called autoerotic asphyxiation,” Brett says absently, flipping bacon and steadfastly not looking at the lean, toned planes of Liam’s chest and stomach._ _ _ _

____Liam whips him with a tea towel, eliciting a girlish cry from him, and leaves a welt. He grins. “You’d know,” he snickers._ _ _ _

____“I hope the hangover kills you,” Brett mutters._ _ _ _

____~*~_ _ _ _

____One thing that surprises Brett about their job, still, is how quickly things go to shit._ _ _ _

____Wednesday is supposed to be routine. They’re out in one of the unmarked cars, with Brett driving and Liam running numberplates, both of them keeping an eye out for suspicious activity and waiting for jobs to come up over the radio. Liam’s muttering something about shitty Mazdas driven by old women when it crackles to life._ _ _ _

____“Are there any available units to head to a possible domestic dispute at 26 Ackland Street?” the dispatcher queries._ _ _ _

____Brett grabs the radio as Liam puts his keyboard away. They’re young, they’re new to the job, and they’re eager to learn._ _ _ _

____“Education 900, this is Aqua 307. We’re in the area and available for a job.”_ _ _ _

____Liam’s bringing up the GPS as the dispatcher’s voice crackles back. “Received, Aqua 307. It’s on your plate.”_ _ _ _

____“Education 900, received.” Liam’s on the radio now; Brett’s driving. “Can we get a location check for that one?”_ _ _ _

____A pause. Then, “Aqua 307, location check shows that there’s been domestic disputes at the address in the past. There’s an intervention order in place against one Paul Faulkner, specifying that he is not to commit any sort of emotional, physical, or sexual violence against his wife. Complainant is a neighbour by the name of Jim Burke.”_ _ _ _

____“Education 900, received. Any drugs, weapons, or alcohol we should know about?”_ _ _ _

____Another pause. Brett’s got the lights on but no sirens - he doesn’t particularly want to alert the guy to their presence just yet, and the address is laughably close to them._ _ _ _

____“Aqua 307, not known.”_ _ _ _

____“Received, thank you,” Liam says, and puts the receiver down. “Alright. Sounds pretty straightforward. If he’s breached the intervention order half our work is done for us, we just gotta get him to the station.”_ _ _ _

____They’re relatively fresh out of the academy, and Brett knows Liam’s brain is doing the same his is - flicking through the intervention orders, the conditions, filing things away neatly and pulling them up so that they’re sure of their arrest powers._ _ _ _

____They pull up at the house in the unmarked car. The street is quiet; even the complainant isn’t outside. That’s odd, Brett thinks, because they’re usually waiting for them._ _ _ _

____Liam’s back on the radio. “Education 900, we’re code five at 26 Ackland Street.”_ _ _ _

____This will be what saves their lives._ _ _ _

____They get out of the car - Liam’s going secondary contact for this one, so he’s trailing behind a little bit. He’s generally better with speaking to victims and kids - he’s miles more aggressive than Brett is, but he’s smaller and not quite as angular. Not as intimidating, that is to say, as Brett, who’s six-two and built like a linebacker._ _ _ _

____Brett’s cataloguing the front yard - noting windows, doors, the porch that looks like it could be a real bitch to get trapped on, the size of the lawn, and the presence of an easily-accessible backyard. There’s an upstairs area, what looks like possibly a second floor and an attic._ _ _ _

____Liam stops. Brett stops because Liam’s stopped._ _ _ _

____“What’s wrong?” he asks._ _ _ _

____“I don’t like this,” Liam says._ _ _ _

____He doesn’t get the chance to elaborate. A gunshot blows the silence to pieces, and suddenly, there’s screaming - coming from the second floor. Brett’s mind whirls. The name check hadn’t revealed any gun licenses and this is a good area where people generally don’t have them illegally-_ _ _ _

____He’s heading towards the house, feet carrying him automatically, and Liam’s holding onto the back of his vest with one hand. This is what they’re trained to do - they’re going to have to clear the floors to find the guy with the gun, and he knows this, his body knows the movements, but his rodent brain is screaming in terror._ _ _ _

____“Clear,” Liam says, and they’ve done the first room, move onto the second and the kitchen before headed up the stairs. They can hear a woman crying, now, and-_ _ _ _

____“Oh fuck they have kids,” Brett breathes. “They have kids-”_ _ _ _

____If Liam hears him, there’s no indication of it. They’re thundering up the stairs, announcing their presence, but there’s no other way, no way to sneak. As Brett watches, Liam presses the orange button on the radio and says, “Gunfire at 26 Ackland Street, backup needed immediately,” and then reforms his grip on his firearm._ _ _ _

____They’ve joked about the orange button before. It’s a distress signal, gives them free range of the radio for exactly ten seconds - long enough for anyone in the area to hear them. Backup is on the way and all they have to do is hang on._ _ _ _

____Brett catalogues the way out. The hallways are narrow, the stairs are steep, and there aren’t many areas where taking cover will be an option. He can only hope nobody’s hurt yet and that they can talk the guy down._ _ _ _

____The crying is coming from the bedroom._ _ _ _

____Brett opens the door outwards and Liam moves, clearing it, getting halfway before his gun is up, ready to shoot, and he’s bellowing “ _Police! Don’t move!_ ” which is the point at which Brett realises it’s getting real._ _ _ _

____He joins Liam’s side and they fan into the room. The bed has been shoved up against the wall, and the man - Paul, Brett assumes - has his wife on her knees, gun to her head. She’s beaten bloody already, crying, one arm clearly broken._ _ _ _

____Two children are cowering in the corner. God, they can’t be older than eight. A girl and a boy. They don’t seem like they’re hurt, but they’re whimpering in terror. Part of Brett is too._ _ _ _

____“Drop the gun,” Liam says, quite calmly. He doesn’t seem bothered, even in the slightest, that there’s a gun in this room not wielded by them._ _ _ _

____“She made me do this!” he explodes, shaking his wife so hard Brett’s afraid she’s going to fly apart at the seams. “You don’t understand, this fucking cow is cheating on me like I don’t already give her everything-”_ _ _ _

____The woman’s shaking her head, mouth open, strings of blood hanging from her nose and her lips. It doesn’t matter if she is._ _ _ _

____“Look,” Liam says, softly. He’s so quiet it forces Paul to pay attention to him. “We didn’t come here to hurt anyone, Paul. I don’t want to have my gun out, you know?”_ _ _ _

____“Then you can fuck off!” Paul shouts._ _ _ _

____“You know we can’t do that,” Liam reasons. “This is a bad situation, but it doesn’t have to get worse.”_ _ _ _

____“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Paul moans, rocking a little. “But I don’t have a choice. I don’t have a choice. She’s cheating - these fucking bastards probably aren’t even mine! And the worst part - you wanna know the fucking worst part, Officer?”_ _ _ _

____“What’s the worst part?”_ _ _ _

____Liam’s buying time, Brett realises now. Neither of them has a shot with the woman in the way and with a gun to her head - Paul will be faster and she’ll be dead, and the children are behind him, where any gunfire from Brett or Liam could easily hit and kill them._ _ _ _

____Paul doesn’t seem to notice Brett, and he’s not really paying attention to the kids. He begins a slow, almost imperceptible shuffle sideways to where they are._ _ _ _

____The mother notices straight away. Brett doesn’t think he’s ever seen bravery like what she’s showing - she takes a deep breath, puts one hand out slowly, and points to him. The children are watching her like a hawk._ _ _ _

____They begin sidling out. Liam and Paul are still talking, but Brett couldn’t tell anyone what they’re talking about. He’s entirely focussed on the kids. He doesn’t want to leave Liam, but he also knows that Liam would want the kids out and that they’re his main priority right now._ _ _ _

____The younger one reaches him first, clings to his pants and hides behind his leg. The older one joins shortly after, and he begins to shuffle back towards the door. The kids move with him, slowly._ _ _ _

____He meets the mother’s eyes. She’s crying openly now, but she mouths “thank you” to him, and he swallows down the emotion it elicits. He’s not a person, not right now, he’s doing a job and these people don’t need him to sympathise, they need him to fucking work._ _ _ _

____He’s at the door of the bedroom when he smells smoke._ _ _ _

____It’s wafting upstairs; now that he thinks about it, he’s sweating, and he can feel the heat rising. His gut goes cold._ _ _ _

____“What’s that smell?” he whispers to himself._ _ _ _

____A tug on his pants. He looks down. The older kid is watching him, eyes huge and round with tears._ _ _ _

____“Daddy started a fire,” she whispers._ _ _ _

____Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. How did they miss that? Where did it start? If he’s already smelling smoke from downstairs and it’s getting hot the fire is probably out of control - it doesn’t take long for flames to engulf an entire house, he knows that much-_ _ _ _

____“Hey!” Paul’s voice bellows, and Brett locks eyes with him. A few things happen - he can see that the man is too far gone to reason with, that they’re wasting time, and that he wants to waste them either way. He knows this man wants his family dead, no exceptions. “Where the hell are you taking those fucking mongrels?!”_ _ _ _

____The little boy shrieks in fear against his leg as the gun comes up and aims at them, and he hears Liam shout, “HEY!” at the top of his lungs, sees him move out of the corner of his eye. Paul turns again, eyes black with fury, and fires._ _ _ _

____The shot goes straight through the softest part of Liam’s shoulder, rips through the vest, and sends a spray of blood up into his jaw and face. The back wall gets painted red, and the kids scream bloody murder, and the mother screams bloody murder, and Paul’s yelling _you made me do it! You made me_ \- and Liam stumbles and his arm drops, shoulder useless._ _ _ _

____Brett turns to the kids, who are white with shock. This is going to end badly._ _ _ _

____“You take your brother outside as fast as you can, sweetie,” he says, and pushes them towards the stairs. There’s another gunshot behind him and he doesn’t even want to think about it, think about whether that was Liam’s final chance. “Go! There are more police on the way!”_ _ _ _

____She grabs her brother’s hand and runs down the stairs and Brett hears the front door slam open, then shut. He starts to turn back._ _ _ _

____There’s a blur of red. Liam’s kneeling, gun in one hand, and his face is white with shock. Brett’s eyes scan the room and see the body of the mother, crumpled._ _ _ _

____“Fuck you!” Paul’s voice screams, “you fucking made me kill her, you made me-”, and Brett feels a blow to the side of his head, so hard that his ears ring and his vision goes temporarily white. He’s losing consciousness, crumpling, legs cut like a puppet’s strings, nerve endings firing frantically in an effort to keep him upright and alive, adrenaline surging-_ _ _ _

____He sees Liam’s right arm - non dominant arm - raise, a black blur in his hand. He hesitates._ _ _ _

____“Liam, take the shot,” he slurs, and his vision goes black._ _ _ _

____~*~_ _ _ _

____“Brett, get up!”_ _ _ _

____Fire doesn’t just crackle. It whooshes, almost like a fan or a vacuum cleaner, like the sound of all the oxygen and breathable air being sucked out of the room, turned to smoke. It’s the first thing Brett notices when he comes to. His head is pounding like nothing he’s ever felt, splitting pain that makes it feel like his skull is being cleaved in two._ _ _ _

____“Get up!”_ _ _ _

____Liam’s leaning over him, face white and smudged in soot. There’s blood dripping on Brett’s face and it all comes flooding back, dispatch-hostages-gun- _police! don’t move!_ -smoke-double bang-_ _ _ _

____“Brett!” Liam sounds scared, now, not authoritative like he did two seconds ago. “Brett, I’m hurt, I can’t carry you out of here, you’re gonna have to help me here-”_ _ _ _

____“Okay,” Brett gasps out, and realises there’s a cloth across his mouth and that Liam’s sleeve on his uninjured arm is missing - Liam’s covered his mouth to keep the worst of the smoke out; it’s tied across his face. He nods instead and Liam’s face is still white, but relieved._ _ _ _

____“Fire,” Brett gasps out, rocking onto his knees._ _ _ _

____“Yeah, yeah, the guy torched the place-” Liam’s bleeding everywhere, there’s splatters of his blood on the floor and it’s running down his arm and it’s all over Brett’s face from where Liam leaned over him. He doesn’t remember getting knocked out, doesn’t remember much about the fire either. “Brett, come on!”_ _ _ _

____His arm is around Liam’s shoulders, he realises, and Liam’s shorter, more compact body is surging upright, forcing Brett to go with him. He’s underwater, can see Liam’s mouth moving but he can’t hear the words. He feels Liam wobble next to him. Getting Brett upright has used any strength he might have had left-_ _ _ _

____He gets an arm around Liam’s waist and tugs him close, taking some of Liam’s weight and feeling him sag with relief. They’re carrying each other, now, Brett taking Liam’s weight and Liam holding Brett upright. “C'mon,” he gasps breathlessly, and Liam begins to steer them towards the stairs._ _ _ _

____Liam can’t put any weight on his injured arm, they find out quickly. He goes to put his hand on the railing to lean as they go down and he cries out, makes an actual godforsaken noise of pain and flinches into Brett’s side, and Brett hears his own voice saying, “Just rest, I got you, I got you-” and he doesn’t even know if it’s true. He can feel himself clinging to Liam, dragging him in, his grip on Liam’s waist so tight it must be hurting him - but he doesn’t know if he’s really got him, not in any meaningful way._ _ _ _

____They’re both colt-shaky as they stagger down the stairs, and Brett focusses on keeping his knees underneath him, a litany of _don’t drop Liam, don’t you drop him_ coursing through his brain, setting every nerve ending alight. They weren’t trained for this. They thought they were but they weren’t-_ _ _ _

____Liam doesn’t have anything over his mouth. He’s coughing, gasping, eyes streaming tears, and his blood is seeping through Brett’s fingers, over the bullet wound. How long has it been? How long was he out? The fire engulfed the house, Paul is nowhere to be seen, Liam could’ve gotten out before it got this bad but he didn’t-_ _ _ _

____Liam’s holding onto his side so hard it’s fucking painful. He’s tiny but strong, but even Brett knows that his lungs will give out like anyone else’s-_ _ _ _

____“Left,” Liam rasps weakly._ _ _ _

____Brett veers, almost blind, shouldering more of Liam’s weight. He can’t find the door. They’re not the fire department-_ _ _ _

____“Door’s sealed,” Liam pants. “Brett, we can’t go that way, door’s sealed, open it and we’re dead-”_ _ _ _

____He turns, almost staggering under Liam’s weight. Window, he notices, and he can almost hear sirens. Maybe he’s imagining things, though, maybe he’s dreaming-_ _ _ _

____“Hold me up,” Liam says, and it’s just enough warning for Brett to shoulder all his weight before Liam pulls his gun with his injured arm and fires a shot into the window opposite them. The glass explodes outwards, and Brett lurches towards it._ _ _ _

____Hands, he realises faintly, reaching through. He shoves Liam ahead of him - someone’s panting, someone’s saying, “He’s hurt, take him first, he’s hurt-” and Liam’s ripped from his arms abruptly. There’s no time to think about it - more hands grab him, yank him through._ _ _ _

____The air is sinfully sweet and he rips the cloth off his face, taking a huge breath in, and his head begins to clear almost immediately. There’s hands on him, divesting him of his tac vest, pushing him to sit and an oxygen mask on his face._ _ _ _

____“Liam,” he gasps. “Where’s-”_ _ _ _

____He looks around, frantically, and there are sirens wailing so loudly and so many people talking he can’t even hear himself think. They’re being filmed, dozens of people standing on the sidewalk staring at him and whispering and pointing, iPhones held up, _God what the fuck do they think this is a fucking TV show? We’re people, we’re real people, we’re fucking hurt-__ _ _ _

____“Sir, are you injured? Are you injured?” a voice asks, breaking through the fog of his brain._ _ _ _

____“Liam,” he panics, trying to stand. “Liam was shot-”_ _ _ _

____“We’ve got him, sir, he’s in the ambulance. Are you hurt?”_ _ _ _

____He’s almost crying with the frustration. “No, fucking listen to me _Liam’s_ hurt, not me, he was shot-”_ _ _ _

____The paramedic turns his head, speaking to someone Brett can’t see. “He’s disoriented,” he says. “Get him into the ambulance.”_ _ _ _

____“No!” he yells, and people are definitely watching now. “You’re not listening, Liam’s been shot, he’s been shot and he’s bleeding, he’s gonna bleed out if you don’t-”_ _ _ _

____Hayden’s face, swimming in his vision. She’s paper-white and her big brown eyes are brimming with tears, and Brett stops what he’s doing to stare with confusion._ _ _ _

____“Brett,” she whispers. “Brett, they’ve got him in the ambulance, okay? They want to take you as well. I know you’re worried about him but you got him out, he’s going to be alright, but they need to look at you as well, okay? Okay?”_ _ _ _

____“Okay,” Brett says dumbly._ _ _ _

____“Can you go in the ambulance?”_ _ _ _

____“I - yeah. Alright.” He reaches out to grasp for her. “Go with him,” he begs. “Don’t leave him on his own-”_ _ _ _

____There’s not even a part of him that reasons that Liam is an adult, albeit a young and short one, and can probably take care of himself. He doesn’t want Liam to be alone while he’s hurt. He doesn’t want Liam to wake up by himself._ _ _ _

____“You’re going in the same ambulance, Brett,” Hayden says. “We have to get you to hospital. Now come on.”_ _ _ _

_____“Brett, I’m hurt, I can’t carry you out of here, you’re gonna have to help me here-”_ _ _ _ _

____~*~_ _ _ _

____Liam’s not conscious in the back of the ambulance and his shoulder is a bloody mess. Brett has no idea how the paramedics can see what they’re doing with all the blood on the wound._ _ _ _

____“Is he gonna be okay?” he rasps weakly, only to have his own paramedic force the oxygen mask back over his face._ _ _ _

____“I need to take your blood pressure.”_ _ _ _

____He closes his eyes, willing himself not to cry, but nobody will give him a fucking answer and Liam’s not awake to tell him himself. It isn’t fair that Liam stayed and woke Brett up and that they got out and that Liam might still die. It’s not fair._ _ _ _

____They fly over a bump. They’re going fast, maybe even faster than Brett’s gone in the cop cars. Liam doesn’t move. There’s a mask over his face too, and his uniform is cut ragged. One arm flops off the table - there’s already an IV in the back of his hand._ _ _ _

____Brett leans forward clumsily, grabs Liam’s wrist and leaves bloody marks there. There’s blood dripping down Liam’s arm, onto the floor of the ambulance, and the paramedics working on him swear as they try to stabilise him._ _ _ _

____“He’s in bad shape,” the older one says. “He needs a transfusion-”_ _ _ _

____Brett almost says _take mine_ but he’s A-neg and Liam’s B-pos and knows it won’t work, and that they wouldn’t do it anyway, and he croaks, “He’s B-Positive,” instead, hoping that that helps._ _ _ _

____“Are you sure?” the paramedic asks, finally addressing him._ _ _ _

____“Yeah. Yes. There’s a patch on his vest…”_ _ _ _

____The vest, which they’ve left on. It’s covered in blood and soot. For the first time, Brett stops and thinks, _where’s Paul? Where did he go?__ _ _ _

____Then he decides he doesn’t care. He really, truly does not give a shit if the guy is burning to death in the building, and he hopes none of the firefighters are wasting their time or risking their lives for it. _He wanted to kill us_ , Brett wants to say, _he tried to kill us, he might’ve succeeded-__ _ _ _

____Liam’s head jerks off the pillow, and for one, terrifying moment, Brett thinks he’s having a seizure. Then Liam’s eyes open, and he’s staring around the ambulance._ _ _ _

____“Lie still, Liam,” the paramedic closest to him says. They’re working feverishly on his injured shoulder, trying to stem the flow of blood. The IV is dumping saline into him even as they speak, trying to normalise his blood pressure._ _ _ _

____“Brett,” Liam says, quite clearly, and turns his head to look around._ _ _ _

____“Hey,” Brett croaks. He can’t speak louder - the smoke has robbed him of that._ _ _ _

____“How long was he out for?” the older paramedic asks._ _ _ _

____“About ten minutes,” the young one mutters tersely._ _ _ _

____“Liam, you with me?” Brett asks desperately._ _ _ _

____“Hey, man,” Liam moans thickly. There are tears rolling down the sides of his face. He looks like he’s in agony, and he looks scared, like a baby animal._ _ _ _

____“Liam, don’t move,” the young paramedic encourages. “Don’t move. You need to stay still, okay? We’re patching you up.”_ _ _ _

____“God, ’m gonna be sick,” Liam whimpers, and the older paramedic curses and gets a cardboard bowl under his face just in time. Brett knows Liam didn’t eat lunch and hardly anything comes up, but he’s frightened all the same._ _ _ _

____“What’s wrong with him?” he demands._ _ _ _

____“He’s in shock,” the older paramedic - his nametag says Justin - says, almost snapping. “We need to get him stabilised-”_ _ _ _

____Liam’s moving again, and Brett leans forward, snags his wrist again. They’re both slippery with blood. The coppery scent permeates the air so thoroughly that Brett can’t even smell the sick or the antiseptic._ _ _ _

____“Liam, stay still,” he pleads._ _ _ _

____No one is more surprised than him when Liam listens, stops shifting, and complies. The paramedics take advantage of it and get right back to work, with the younger one preparing a needle. Brett doesn’t need a degree to know it’s a sedative. Liam’s too wound up for them to risk him staying awake._ _ _ _

____“Y'okay?” Liam whispers._ _ _ _

____“Yeah, I’m alright, I’m fine. Barely a scratch.” He’s only just holding it together, doesn’t admit it. “Liam, you need to let them do their job, okay? They’re trying to help you, don’t fight them.”_ _ _ _

____Liam’s started to shake - violently. “Getting shot hurts,” he croaks._ _ _ _

____“I know,” Brett says, helplessly. “Don’t think about that, okay? Don’t think about it. Go to sleep. Shut your eyes.”_ _ _ _

____Liam does, and it’s like his body gives up, then - right before the needle slides into his arm, Liam’s body goes slack and he’s suddenly out for the count. The paramedic puts the needle aside and keeps working._ _ _ _

____“Brett, we need to treat you,” his own paramedic says urgently. “You hit your head and lost consciousness, is that right?”_ _ _ _

____“Yes,” he croaks. He’s trying to cooperate, he really is, but he’s so fucking scared._ _ _ _

____“How long were you out for?”_ _ _ _

____“I don’t - I don’t know, I… long enough for the fire to get bad-”_ _ _ _

____“That doesn’t take much,” the paramedic says. “Look, we’ll do a full assessment at the hospital but given you were hit hard enough to lose consciousness, you’ve got at least a moderate concussion.”_ _ _ _

____“Where are the kids?” Brett whispers._ _ _ _

____“They’re safe, Brett.” The paramedic actually smiles. “They’re alright.”_ _ _ _

____“Good.” He takes a deep breath of oxygen and sways where he’s sitting a little. “That’s good.”_ _ _ _

____They scream into the hospital emergency department less than two minutes later, and they’re both being loaded off the ambulance, Brett walking under his own power and Liam on a stretcher. Liam’s regained consciousness again, and he’s looking around, but he’s not saying anything - he’s dazed._ _ _ _

____“Go back to sleep,” Brett croaks to him. “Okay?”_ _ _ _

____Liam’s eyes find his for the barest moment before he’s out again._ _ _ _

____Brett tells them everything he can about their injuries, the fire, and the gunshot wound to Liam’s shoulder. He explains seeing the spray of blood from an exit wound and is promptly informed that there are still fragments to be removed. Liam hasn’t hit his head, they explain as they work on his concussion assessment and begin treatment for smoke inhalation, but he didn’t have anything over his face, and his lungs are struggling._ _ _ _

____“He covered my face,” Brett croaks, and they offer him water. “With his sleeve. To keep the smoke out.”_ _ _ _

____“He did you a favour,” the doctor says. “There doesn’t appear to be anything other than superficial damage here… and from your assessment, your concussion seems mild. I’d still like to check you in for a night-”_ _ _ _

____“No,” Brett says bluntly. If he’s checked in he can’t watch out for Liam._ _ _ _

____“Brett…” The doctor rubs his face. “I know you’re worried about your partner. There’s nothing you can do for him at the moment. He’s undergoing surgery to remove the shrapnel from his shoulder, and he’ll likely be unconscious for a day, at least.”_ _ _ _

____“I don’t care,” Brett says. “Mild concussion, right?”_ _ _ _

____“Exactly. You need to be woken up every two to three hours-”_ _ _ _

____“Do you really think I’m gonna sleep, Doc?” he asks, and his voice breaks._ _ _ _

____There’s silence. The doctor gives him Gatorade this time, lets him sit._ _ _ _

____“I guess you won’t be leaving the hospital anyway,” he says quietly._ _ _ _

____“No. I won’t.”_ _ _ _

____He does, briefly, because he needs clothes and his bloody uniform is scaring the shit out of people. There’s a police guard at the hospital, and Brett still doesn’t feel safe leaving Liam there._ _ _ _

____His apartment is quiet. He lets himself in and stumbles to the bathroom, dead tired, not knowing how to proceed with anything. The coffee they’d had this morning is sitting stagnant and curdling in mugs on his coffee table._ _ _ _

____He goes to the bathroom and flicks the light on. Looks in the mirror._ _ _ _

____His tactical shirt is soaked through with sweat and darker patches that are probably blood. His right arm - the one that was slung over Liam’s bleeding shoulder - is streaked with blood. There’s blood on his arm, his neck, his face - it’s everywhere. He remembers Liam bleeding on him, Liam begging him to wake up and get out-_ _ _ _

____He barely makes it to the toilet before he throws up, and once he’s done, he can’t get out of the uniform fast enough. He strips the vest and the shirt and wriggles out of the boots and pants, and he lunges for the shower, desperate to be rid of fire and the scent of Liam’s blood all over him._ _ _ _

____He soaps up twice, washes his hair three times, and stays in the shower until his skin is red raw and he’s panting through the steam. The blood is gone, swirling round the drain, but he doesn’t feel clean._ _ _ _

____He’s got to get back to the hospital. He has to make sure Liam’s okay._ _ _ _

____His phone rings, startling him, and he sees Hayden’s number flashing across the screen._ _ _ _

____“Hey,” he answers._ _ _ _

____“Where the fuck are you?!” She sounds upset._ _ _ _

____“I checked myself out,” he says bluntly, staring at his reflection in the mirror._ _ _ _

____“You what?! Why? Brett, you could’ve died-”_ _ _ _

____“Yeah, but I didn’t, and I’m no good to anyone in a fucking hospital bed. There was nothing more they could do for me other than keep me under observation.”_ _ _ _

____“Brett, Jesus.” She sounds really upset; he almost feels bad. “Do you think Liam would want you to-”_ _ _ _

____“Liam’s not exactly up to giving his opinion, is he?” he snaps, and she bursts into tears on the other end of the line, and then Brett’s crying too. “Hayden, I’m sorry. I didn’t-”_ _ _ _

____“I know,” she sniffles. “They said he’ll be out of surgery soon. We can’t see him but we can wait.”_ _ _ _

____“Okay,” he sighs tiredly._ _ _ _

____~*~_ _ _ _

____The sergeants are waiting for them with the news that Paul Faulkner’s corpse was found in the house, burned and dead via gunshot wound to the chest. It was instant, they say, and Brett thinks that’s too quick._ _ _ _

____The woman is dead too, they explain softly, but the children are alright and in the care of their maternal grandparents._ _ _ _

____“We need to know what happened, Brett,” someone says. “We’ve got a burned-down house, a seriously injured junior officer, two dead people and two orphans on our hands. The coroner wants answers.”_ _ _ _

____Brett blinks up at them. Liam’s in the ICU, temporarily, recovering from surgery._ _ _ _

____“What happened?” he asked._ _ _ _

____“Specifically, why Paul Faulkner was shot,” one of them says quietly._ _ _ _

____Brett licks his lips. The younger officer present offers him water, and he drinks greedily before putting the cup down and straightening a little. The sooner he tells them, the sooner they’re off his back._ _ _ _

____“Liam was bargaining with him,” he says. “He distracted him for long enough that the kids got to me. And then…”_ _ _ _

____He racks his memory desperately._ _ _ _

____“Something happened,” he says. “We lost control somehow, I think… I think he noticed that the kids were getting away, and he aimed the gun at us, and one of them screamed. Liam got his attention back - that’s when he was shot.”_ _ _ _

____Brett sees it again. The jerk of Liam’s body, the spray of blood on the wall, on his jaw and face._ _ _ _

____“The kids screamed,” he gasps, fighting nausea. “And the mom screamed, and then he shot the mom, I think, and I turned around for a second to tell the kids to run because the house was on fire. I heard them get out and I was turning back, and he-”_ _ _ _

____He remembers it. A stake of pain driving into his skull, the blinding white of the pain, his vision swimming._ _ _ _

____“He hit me,” Brett says, gesturing to his head. “Knocked me out. Liam was - Liam was on his knees, he was losing blood-”_ _ _ _

_____There’s blood all over the fucking hospital floor don’t they pay people to clean this shit up?_ What’s he paying taxes for if they’re gonna leave puddles of blood in the waiting room anyone can see it and it belongs in Liam’s body-_ _ _ _

____“He was losing blood and he had a shot and I told him to take it,” Brett says. “And then I passed out.”_ _ _ _

____“What happened next?”_ _ _ _

____“I woke up.” Heat. Hellfire. “The house was on fire. Liam was shaking me. We carried each other out.”_ _ _ _

____“Did you check the bodies of the victims?”_ _ _ _

____He lifts his head and stares, suddenly and sharply aware that his sergeants are completely out of touch with what real police work is._ _ _ _

____“Liam was bleeding out,” he says. “We were both suffocating from the smoke. We didn’t check the bodies, we were just focussed on getting out.”_ _ _ _

____The door opens. Liam’s doctor stands in the doorway, looking exhausted. It’s been eleven hours since they arrived at the hospital, but Brett couldn’t say where he’s spent most of that time._ _ _ _

____“Liam’s out of the ICU,” he says tiredly. “He lost quite a bit of blood during the surgery, but he’s out of the woods and he’s going to be fine. You’re welcome to go sit with him.”_ _ _ _

____Brett rises to his feet shakily. “He’ll be alright?”_ _ _ _

____“A bit groggy from the anaesthesia I suspect, and likely out for a few more hours, but yes,” the doctor says. “I’m confident he’ll be fine.”_ _ _ _

____“Okay,” Brett breathes, and he vaguely hears that he’s excused to go sit by Liam. He leaves, the doctor next to him._ _ _ _

____“Brett, does he have any next of kin?” the doctor asks softly._ _ _ _

____Brett pulls up. “Huh? You mean - you mean family?”_ _ _ _

____The doctor nods._ _ _ _

____Now that Brett thinks about it, Liam doesn’t mention his family. “Why?” he asks._ _ _ _

____“There’s no one listed as his emergency contact other than an old boyfriend,” the doctor explains._ _ _ _

____Old boyfriend, Brett’s lizard brain registers. “I - I don’t know,” he stammers. “He never even mentioned the old boyfriend, never mind any family… I don’t know. He lives alone. He’s got a cat. But he lives alone.”_ _ _ _

____The doctor nods. “Alright. Thank you. You can go in now. Try not to disturb him… he’s going to need the rest.”_ _ _ _

____Liam’s covered in a tangle of wires - one is rigged up to an IV, one is a heart monitor, and one leads to the oxygen mask over his face. He’s still surprisingly sooty and dirty, although not as much as when they got here._ _ _ _

____Brett supposes their priority wasn’t getting him clean._ _ _ _

____He sits down in the chair at the edge of the bed. It’d be lame to hold Liam’s hand so he grabs his wrist instead, putting two fingers against his pulse point, and sighs shakily._ _ _ _

____“Hey, buddy,” he says, and settles in. “I’m not going anywhere.”_ _ _ _

____~*~_ _ _ _

____He awakens to a slight rustling._ _ _ _

____He blinks his eyes open, sees Liam moving a little bit. A few hours have passed; he must have dozed off, because his head is on Liam’s mattress, near his hip._ _ _ _

____“Liam?” he croaks sleepily._ _ _ _

____Liam turns his head, his fingers on his injured arm twitching a little. His eyes open, a little, and focus slowly on Brett before closing again._ _ _ _

____“Hey,” Brett murmurs._ _ _ _

____Liam blinks, so slowly that his eyes fully close and Brett thinks he’s gone back to sleep. Then he opens them again, halfway, bleary, clinging to consciousness._ _ _ _

____“Where ’m I…?”_ _ _ _

____“St. Vincent’s,” Brett says. He’s warring with the desire to keep Liam awake and try to get him to go back to sleep. Liam’s going to be fine, the doctors said so… but still, he wants to know from talking to him._ _ _ _

____Liam licks his lips, frowns, and Brett realises he must be parched. He grabs some ice chips from the machine outside and comes back, lifts the oxygen mask a tiny bit to spoon them into Liam’s mouth._ _ _ _

____It’s weirdly intimate. Liam lets him do it without a word of complaint, and a little colour comes back to his lips, at the very least._ _ _ _

____“How long was I out?” he whispers weakly._ _ _ _

____“A while.” Brett’s trying to hold it together; he needs to be strong for Liam when Liam can’t be strong for himself. He can break later. “At least fourteen hours… maybe more. I was out for some of it too.”_ _ _ _

____It’s like it comes rushing back to Liam, then, like he remembers what happens, because his eyes open fully and he struggles to sit up. The heart monitor picks up pace, and Brett tries to soothe him with nonsense sounds and a hand on his chest._ _ _ _

____“You got hurt. You got knocked out-!”_ _ _ _

____Liam’s eyes are wild with panic._ _ _ _

____“Hey, relax!” He’s never seen Liam this afraid before, not even in the fire. “You got me out. You woke me up and you got us both out. Would I be sitting here otherwise?”_ _ _ _

____Liam relaxes, marginally, his face tight with pain. “I don’t remember much,” he admits._ _ _ _

____“Good,” Brett mutters fervently._ _ _ _

____There’s quiet for a little while. Liam looks like he’s resting, but Brett knows he isn’t sleeping, exactly. His shoulder must be killing him, but he isn’t saying anything about it._ _ _ _

____“Gimme the low-down,” Liam pleads quietly. “How bad is it?”_ _ _ _

____Brett rubs his face helplessly. “I only know the basics,” he admits. “They won’t tell me because I’m not family. You got shot - bullet went through, left some shrapnel in there, you bled like a stuck pig. Had a few transfusions. Then surgery to get the fragments out, then more transfusions. They’re talking more surgery depending on how your arm is.” He shakes himself. “Fuck, I should let the doc know you’re awake.”_ _ _ _

____Brett begins to stand. Just as he does, Liam catches the hem of his t-shirt in his fingertips. Brett pauses and turns to him._ _ _ _

____“Thanks,” Liam says. “For staying.”_ _ _ _

____Brett smiles tremulously, doesn’t want to cry, at least not here, not in front of Liam, when Liam needs him to be strong. “You’re welcome,” he says. “I’m gonna get the doctor.”_ _ _ _

____Liam lets him go, and Brett leaves._ _ _ _

____~*~_ _ _ _

____Hayden finds him sitting on the ground outside Liam’s room, tears streaming down his face._ _ _ _

____“Honey,” she sighs, and sits down next to him, pulling Brett until his head is curled down into her chest. “Why’re you hiding out here?”_ _ _ _

____“I can’t let him see me like this.”_ _ _ _

____“Brett… I know he’s a prickly little asshole, but he’s not gonna judge you for crying…”_ _ _ _

____“That’s not it.” He looks up, rubs his eyes. “Jesus, Hayden, he almost died. He doesn’t need me bawling all over him. He needs me to be strong-”_ _ _ _

____“Maybe he just needs you to be there,” she says quietly. “I don’t think he’s gonna begrudge you crying.”_ _ _ _

____Brett nods, wipes his eyes, and stands up. Hayden smiles._ _ _ _

____“You go in, okay? Boss just sent me to check on you both.”_ _ _ _

____“Okay,” Brett whispers. She might say something else but he doesn’t hear it - he just heads back into the hospital room where Liam’s lying with his eyes shut. They open when Brett comes in, follow him as he goes to sit at Liam’s bedside._ _ _ _

____“You okay?” Liam’s face is crumpled in concern. He doesn’t look like he’s in pain anymore._ _ _ _

____Brett tips the corners of his lips in an almost-smile. “Long couple of days,” he says._ _ _ _

____Liam nods tiredly, then shuffles closer to the edge of the bed with a wince - closer to Brett, he realises. Maybe Liam needs comfort and company as much as he does._ _ _ _

____“Want me to stay?” he asks, and maybe it’s not fair but he needs to hear it. Needs to know that Liam needs this as much as he does._ _ _ _

____“Yeah,” Liam says softly. He sounds exhausted. “If you can.”_ _ _ _

____“I got some time,” Brett says, and Liam smiles tiredly._ _ _ _

____~*~_ _ _ _

____Liam doesn’t need to go under for a second surgery, which is good._ _ _ _

____Having said that, the surgery to get the bullet fragments out of his shoulder fucked him up well and good, and now he needs physical therapy for the arm. He’ll on his feet but out of action for a while._ _ _ _

____“Maybe a month or so,” the doctor says after inspecting Liam’s wound and leaving him a pale, sweaty mess on the bed. “Physical therapy needs to start right away, otherwise the muscles could freeze up.”_ _ _ _

____The day after the first surgery is worst. Probably because Liam’s still groggy and out of it, they’re weaning him off the pain medication, and he doesn’t really seem to be able to comprehend why they’re doing it. He’s in an out of consciousness for the better part of thirty six hours, alternating between sleeping fitfully and being bitchy while he’s awake._ _ _ _

____Brett doesn’t blame him. Can’t blame him. He’d be bitchy too if he’d had a bullet lodged in his shoulder, been caught in a house fire, undergone surgery, and then been told he’s not allowed to have any more morphine._ _ _ _

____“You know,” he says, on the second day, when Liam’s pain is more easily managed by something that isn’t morphine and he’s just looking tired and not like he’ll bite anyone’s head off, “Leon Kennedy got shot in Resident Evil 2.”_ _ _ _

____“You and that fucking game,” Liam says, but he’s smiling a bit. “So?”_ _ _ _

____“So he’s a total badass.”_ _ _ _

____“I think it was the zombie-killing that made him a badass… not getting shot. Trust me. It’s not fun.”_ _ _ _

____There’s a knock, immediately followed by Sergeant McMorrow and another cop Brett’s not familiar with walking in. They’re tailed by the doctor, who doesn’t look happy._ _ _ _

____“Officer Talbot, Officer Dunbar,” McMorrow says, and Brett and Liam share a look, a well-this-can’t-be-good look. “You look well.”_ _ _ _

____Liam looks nowhere close to being well. He’s not even in the ballpark of looking well, and Brett’s sure he doesn’t look much better. “Sergeant,” he says softly, taking the lead. “How can I help?”_ _ _ _

____He’s trying to deflect their attention away from Liam a little. It doesn’t work._ _ _ _

____“We need you to walk through the house with us,” the other cop - Yvengy, the name tag says - replies. “We need to ascertain what happened. There are people dead.”_ _ _ _

____Before Brett can speak, the doctor butts in, looking outraged, and puts himself between them. “Absolutely not,” he snaps. “Liam’s just had major surgery done on his shoulder and is currently on constant IV medication for pain relief and to replace all the fluids he lost. He’s my patient and he’s not medically fit to go anywhere, much less back to a crime scene.”_ _ _ _

____The Sergeant doesn’t look happy. “He’s tough,” he says. “He’ll be fine-”_ _ _ _

____“I don’t give a rat’s ass if you think he’s tough,” the doctor says. “Liam very nearly bled to death and he is not being released. Not for this, not for anything.”_ _ _ _

____Thank God for the doctor, Brett thinks as he stands._ _ _ _

____“I’m medically fit,” he says. He hears his own voice from a thousand miles away. “I’ll go. You can still get a statement from Liam, right?”_ _ _ _

____They don’t look happy, but they seem to know that’s all they’re going to get. So Brett leaves with McMorrow and Yvengy stays with Liam, and Brett can only hope that being back in the house is something he can face this soon._ _ _ _

____~*~_ _ _ _

____The house hasn’t been cleaned up._ _ _ _

____Brett has to walk forensics through, show them what happened so they can piece together a crime scene. The fire is out and the amount of water the house was doused in has done nothing for the place._ _ _ _

____He walks them through the door. To the spot Liam was shot. He follows the trail of blood around the house - at first it’s splatters on the ground, and then there’s smearing on the wall from where Liam leaned on it._ _ _ _

____He doesn’t recognise some of the trails of blood. He’d known Liam was bleeding heavily but this is a whole other ballgame - this looks like life-ending amounts of blood, outside Liam’s body where it’s not supposed to be._ _ _ _

____“I tried to drag you out,” Liam says, when Brett confronts him at the hospital later, seething with anger. Liam looks guilty, not mad. “I couldn’t… I didn’t know how bad he’d hit you or if… I’d cause more damage getting you down the stairs, and I couldn’t shove you out a window, and I couldn’t carry you. Brett, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I tried.”_ _ _ _

____Liam feels guilty for not getting him out. Liam thinks Brett is angry at him for that - not because he risked his own life by staying._ _ _ _

____“I’m not - Liam, you could’ve gotten out-”_ _ _ _

____“You’re my partner.” Liam’s eyes are watering; he’s been teetering on the edge of something for the last few days, muddled by the drugs and the pain and Brett knows it isn’t fair to do this now, here, when Liam’s defences are down. “You’re my partner, I couldn’t leave you.”_ _ _ _

____The fight goes out of Brett, and he slumps to sit on the edge of Liam’s bed. He would’ve done the same thing. They both know it._ _ _ _

____“You nearly bled to death,” Brett whispers, throat dry and working hard. “You lost so much blood-”_ _ _ _

____“Yeah. Well. I’m… doing better now.” Liam smiles weakly. “You pushing me out a window didn’t help…”_ _ _ _

____“I did?”_ _ _ _

____“Yeah.” Liam straightens a little, frowning. “What, you don’t remember?”_ _ _ _

____Brett shakes his head silently._ _ _ _

____“Oh,” Liam murmurs. “Yeah. I shot the window pane out, nearly collapsed. You hauled me over there and shoved me through it to the firefighters. Kept telling them to take me first.”_ _ _ _

______“He’s hurt, take him first, he’s hurt-”__ _ _ _ _

______Liam’s ripped from his arms, he hurts, and smoke billows, and he reaches out to look for Liam but he’s already gone, out of reach__ _ _ _ _

____He looks up. Liam’s watching him._ _ _ _

____“Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “I remember.”_ _ _ _

____Liam looks sad, like he knows exactly what Brett’s thinking about. “I don’t remember anything after that,” he admits. “One minute I was in the house and being pushed through the window, then I woke up here.”_ _ _ _

____“Nothing?” Brett asks. “At all?”_ _ _ _

____“No. They told me you were in the ambulance with me, though. And that I woke up for a little bit. I don’t remember that.”_ _ _ _

____“You were awake when we got to the hospital,” Brett says. “You just… weren’t saying anything, you know? You were awake but you were pretty dazed. They said you didn’t hit your head, but you were in shock. Nobody expected you to remember anything.”_ _ _ _

____“I like low expectations,” Liam sighs, and Brett laughs a little._ _ _ _

____~*~_ _ _ _

____Liam’s released a week later with a rehab program and prescription painkillers._ _ _ _

____He’s been lucky, all things considered. Smoke inhalation didn’t do too much damage, there was no need for any reconstructive shoulder surgery, and he miraculously avoided fever, infection, or hospital-acquired illnesses._ _ _ _

____Brett helps him dress, pulls one of his own t-shirts over Liam’s head and helps him struggle into a pair of soft, worn jeans. There was never a question that Brett would be taking Liam home; Liam can’t drive. He looks like he can barely move._ _ _ _

____“Are you sure he should be leaving?” Brett asks the doctor._ _ _ _

____The doctor smiles. “I know he looks bad,” he says. “But there’s nothing more I can do for him here that you can’t do for him at home. He’ll rest more easily in an environment he’s used to. Just keep an eye on his temperature and make sure he takes the pain pills.”_ _ _ _

____“Okay,” Brett says uneasily._ _ _ _

____Liam’s apartment in a fourth-floor walk up. His legs aren’t injured - the worst of it is confined to his shoulder - but he’s still pale and lower on blood than most people, and the jarring of walking up clearly hurts his shoulder. They take it slow and Brett carries their things._ _ _ _

____Brett unlocks the door. Liam’s not in a sling, because movement is important for his shoulder, but he’s got that arm tucked carefully across his stomach. He’s so white Brett considers wheeling him around and taking him back to the hospital._ _ _ _

____“I want a shower,” Liam croaks pitifully._ _ _ _

____“You look like you’re about to keel over,” Brett says nervously._ _ _ _

____“Brett, I haven’t had anything more than a sponge bath since we got out of that damn house,” Liam pleads. “I feel like shit and I smell like shit and I just wanna be clean. C'mon, please.”_ _ _ _

____“Okay,” Brett says uneasily. “You’ll call? If you need help?”_ _ _ _

____“Yeah,” Liam says, looking relieved. “Can you help with my shirt?”_ _ _ _

____Brett gets it off for him, steadfastly ignoring the pained little noises Liam’s confining to the back of his throat. He knows Liam will be better after sleep, after some food… that he’s out of the woods. But it doesn’t help._ _ _ _

____The shower turns on, stays on for almost ten minutes, then turns off. When Liam pads out in a pair of sweats and nothing else, he looks calmer, more relaxed. There’s a healthy, pale pink tint to his face._ _ _ _

____“You look a lot better,” Brett says._ _ _ _

____“I feel a lot better.” Liam sits on the couch, yawns softly. “Mind if I sleep?”_ _ _ _

____“No,” Brett says. “You want me to skedaddle?”_ _ _ _

____Liam’s eyebrows shoot up into his hair. “Skedaddle?” he mocks._ _ _ _

____“Good to see you’re back to being an asshole,” Brett huffs, but takes the non-answer for what it is and buries himself in the armchair near the heater. “Let me know if you want anything.”_ _ _ _

____“I can walk,” Liam says, but he’s still smiling. “My legs aren’t broken.”_ _ _ _

____“Fine, I’ll just leave you to your convalescence and watch you suffer, bitch.”_ _ _ _

____Liam lies down, tugs an afghan over his chest, and grins. “No you won’t,” he teases. “You love me.”_ _ _ _

____“Yeah, like a masochist loves pain,” Brett mutters, but he doesn’t exactly deny it._ _ _ _

____~*~_ _ _ _

____Liam naps for a few hours, only waking up when it’s time to take his pain pills. He’s overslept a bit and he’s in pain when he wakes, but nothing unmanageable, and nothing pizza can’t fix._ _ _ _

____Brett’s on medical leave for a week, and he hardly leaves Liam on his own. If Liam minds him hanging out, he doesn’t say anything - he just tells Brett not to try folding himself onto the couch anymore, because it’s “ridiculous” for someone his size to try and cram onto a two-seater. They end up in the bed together, carefully not touching._ _ _ _

____He helps with Liam’s exercises and drives when they go out. Liam spends a few more days looking a little pale and wrung out, but the pain is under control and his appetite is back in full-force._ _ _ _

____Brett thought for sure recovery would be harder. So did Liam, apparently, who admits before a check-up that he’s waiting for the other foot to drop._ _ _ _

____“You were lucky,” the doctor says, finishing his inspection of Liam’s sutures. “Let’s leave it at that.”_ _ _ _

____Once Liam seems like he’s on the mend, and Brett doesn’t have anything to focus on, the guilt sets in. He can’t help but feel like Liam held him up in there - first with the negotiating, then taking the bullet, then waking him up and directing them out of there…_ _ _ _

____And so he stops going around._ _ _ _

____Liam texts a few times. Then he stops. Then he sends one final, angry, “what the fuck, man?” sometime at three in the morning when Brett’s sure he’s mixing alcohol and pain meds, and Brett pulls his head out of his ass and goes round._ _ _ _

____He’s got a key. He knocks, but Liam doesn’t answer, so he lets himself in. Cosmo mewls at him, rubbing against his legs in an attempt to beg food._ _ _ _

____“Stop being such a kibble-slut,” Brett says. “Where’s Liam?”_ _ _ _

____Liam, it turns out, is in the bedroom, fast asleep. He looks like shit again, and he’s favouring his injured shoulder even in sleep. He should only have a few pain pills left before the prescription runs out but there’s almost thirty of them._ _ _ _

____“What the hell is this?” Brett snaps, shaking the bottle._ _ _ _

____Liam blinks into wakefulness. “Huh?” he asks, notices who’s in his bedroom, and glares. “Oh, nice of you to show up. I didn’t give you a key so you could mother hen me.”_ _ _ _

____“Why aren’t you taking your pain pills?” Brett grits out._ _ _ _

____“'Cause I don’t need to, Mom,” Liam snaps. “Why the fuck do you care anyway? You just dropped off the map. I thought you’d eaten your gun, you fucking prick - I had Hayden go round to check on you!”_ _ _ _

____So that’s why she was there._ _ _ _

____“I needed time,” Brett says. “Surely you understand that-”_ _ _ _

____“I would’ve understood that if you’d told me, you giant girl!” Liam says exasperatedly. “But you didn’t tell me anything, you just disappeared! I thought you were tired of playing nursemaid!”_ _ _ _

____Brett flounders. “I wasn’t,” he says. “I didn’t-”_ _ _ _

____“Oh, whatever,” Liam says. “Are you seriously here just to ream me out about not taking my pills?”_ _ _ _

____“I’m here because you texted me at three in the morning and that’s so unlike you, you may as well be a Liam cadaver doll,” Brett snaps, “and I know you must’ve either taken something or drunk something or both-”_ _ _ _

____“Try both,” Liam says, and he doesn’t even seem like he’s spoiling for a fight anymore; his shoulders are slumped. “I took a sleeping tablet, okay? I haven’t been sleeping well. It reacted with my pain meds. I’m fine now.” He stares up at Brett. His shoulder still has a little white bandage on it. “Why didn’t you come round?” he asks, sounding oddly vulnerable._ _ _ _

____Brett hadn’t considered that Liam would think it was his fault. He feels bad, because he can see that Liam hasn’t been sleeping well, and he can see he’s dropped some weight, too._ _ _ _

____“You got shot because of me,” he says. “You risked your life staying in a burning building because of me. And once you got better that hit me really hard. I don’t want you to die for me.”_ _ _ _

____He turns. He feels overwhelmed, suddenly, realises that the wounds from his friend’s suicide and telling his mother and everything in between then and the house fire have been piling up and he hasn’t dealt, not at all. He can’t do it._ _ _ _

____“Sorry,” he says, and makes to leave._ _ _ _

____“Brett!”_ _ _ _

____He’s tugged back by a hand on his wrist. Liam’s managed to grab him with his left hand; it looks like the effort has drained nearly all his energy. His eyes and mouth are tight at the edges with pain._ _ _ _

____“Don’t go, man,” Liam pleads softly. “Brett… you’re my A-team. Don’t… you can’t let yourself think that… you got me out, dude. If you hadn’t been there…”_ _ _ _

____If he hadn’t been there, Liam wouldn’t have distracted Paul for his sake. Then again, if he hadn’t been there, nobody would have shouldered Liam’s weight out of the fire in the first place. Liam would’ve gotten the call anyway - there’s no telling what would’ve happened if Brett hadn’t been there._ _ _ _

____You’re my A-team, Liam had said, and he’s still gazing up at Brett helplessly, begging him with his eyes not to leave._ _ _ _

____He can’t take it anymore. He thought he’d lost Liam to the bullet and then he thought he’d lost him to the fire, and then Liam had undergone surgery while Brett had had to explain everything to the sergeants and inspectors, and he can’t do it anymore. He feels too deeply and too much and he can’t ignore it or switch it off-_ _ _ _

____He leans in and kisses Liam, not stopping to look at his face, not worrying about rejection._ _ _ _

____Liam kisses him back, hard, desperate, his good arm reaching up to cup the back of his neck and drag him down, until Brett’s on top of him and pressing him into the mattress, mindful of his injured shoulder. Liam’s hands wander - his chest, his back, and his sides are all open season for Liam’s exploring fingers - and his mouth is almost bruising._ _ _ _

____Brett pulls away, holding the back of Liam’s head. “Don’t you ever get shot again, you idiot,” he breathes. “Especially not for me.”_ _ _ _

____“It was worth it,” Liam says quietly, and Brett knows he’s serious, that he means it, that Liam wouldn’t take it back for a do-over and that he’d do it again. He knows because he’d do the same and he can’t even be angry about it._ _ _ _

____“Fine,” Brett murmurs. “Alright, fine. But we’re here now. And I don’t want you to do it again.”_ _ _ _

____Liam nods, and Brett leans back in for another kiss. He’d take it all the way tonight if he thought Liam could actually do that, but his movement is limited and Brett can’t think of any way it wouldn’t hurt him._ _ _ _

____There is something they can do, though, that doesn’t involve him pounding Liam into the mattress like he wants to. He skitters a hand down Liam’s body to his sweats, and Liam almost whimpers, almost, and Brett stops._ _ _ _

____“You okay?”_ _ _ _

____“Yeah, yes, please-”_ _ _ _

____“Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you,” Brett whispers into Liam’s throat._ _ _ _

____“Anything, just - I just want you to touch me. I haven’t felt good in ages, I’m sick of being in pain. Make me forget about it for a while.”_ _ _ _

____So he does. He slips his hand into Liam’s sweats and boxers, feels the weight of him heavy in his palm, and pushes his pants down properly. Liam actually does whimper at the contact, arches into it, his face screwed up with a mix of pleasure-pain._ _ _ _

____“Just relax,” Brett begs. “Hold still, I’m gonna take care of you.”_ _ _ _

____He rolls his hand up and Liam opens his eyes, and the heated look he gives Brett makes Brett surge down to meet him in a kiss. He fumbles his own pants down and slicks them up together, and Liam’s jaw drops open to mouth wordlessly against his chin and jaw._ _ _ _

____“Yeah?” Brett asks breathily, and rolls his hips down a little. He’s not quite as far along as Liam is, who’s rock solid and looks like he’s teetering on the brink. “This okay?”_ _ _ _

____“Yeah,” Liam moans, lifting his left leg to hook around the back of Brett’s thighs. “Mm, yeah.” His legs are open, so deliciously open and lax-_ _ _ _

____Brett circles a finger down, and Liam shudders, trying to push towards him, his whole body strung tight like a bow and arrow. Brett knows it’ll be over if he does what he’s thinking of doing._ _ _ _

____“You gonna come?” he asks quietly, rocking again, realising that he’s panting and sweating and painfully hard. “You want me to finger you while you come?”_ _ _ _

____“Yes,” Liam almost sobs, and Brett sucks on his finger for a moment before pushing it into Liam’s body._ _ _ _

____The sound he makes is indescribably hot - Brett breathes out, long and hard, trying to get himself under control. Liam’s tight and wet around his finger and he crooks the tip even as he continues to stroke them both, angles down-_ _ _ _

____“Brett,” Liam gasps, startled, and his whole body shudders in one long movement, and he’s coming all over his own belly and Brett’s hand and his dick. Brett keeps massaging his prostate, watching as Liam wriggles a bit and moans and shivers his way through aftershocks._ _ _ _

____Brett tips his finger again. Liam gives a low, surprised cry, his body clenching as his cock makes one more attempt at coming, and Brett’s gone. He’s done. He comes all over Liam’s belly, adding to the mess and pushing his hips into Liam like it’s not too late to fuck him senseless._ _ _ _

____“Oh my God,” Liam moans, then giggles. “I’m so gonna get shot again.”_ _ _ _

____“That’s not funny,” Brett says, but he’s smiling even as he rolls carefully to the side. “You got tissues?”_ _ _ _

____“Washcloth in the bathroom,” Liam calls sleepily._ _ _ _

____Brett cleans him up gently, wipes his face first and then his stomach. Liam blinks his eyes open._ _ _ _

____“When you said you’d help with recovery…”_ _ _ _

____“I actually wasn’t gaming for this,” Brett grins, “but, you know, I’m a good friend.”_ _ _ _

____“Fuck, you’re the best friend,” Liam yawns, tossing his good arm across Brett’s chest. “Hmm.”_ _ _ _

____“Liam Dunbar’s a snuggler, huh?”_ _ _ _

____“He is today.”_ _ _ _

____“Noted. Roll over, okay? Get your weight off your shoulder. I’m not going anywhere.”_ _ _ _

____They’re not supposed to sleep together, he knows. But he’s spent months living on the edge of this job with Liam at his side through the best and the worst and through all the pain, and he wouldn’t change it for the fucking world - none of it, even the bits that reduced him to his last two percent. He won’t give this up now. He can’t._ _ _ _

____How could he? Even when he was down to what felt like nothing - down to fumes - Liam was there. There, giving emergency oxygen, more fuel, whatever he needed. Not just picking him up, but holding him there._ _ _ _

____He feels everything, all the way down to the bone, like he said. He didn’t lie about that. But for the first time, he can see it as his biggest strength, and not his greatest weakness._ _ _ _

____“Brett.”_ _ _ _

____He looks over. Liam’s watching him seriously._ _ _ _

____“Yeah?” he asks, suddenly nervous._ _ _ _

____Liam’s face breaks out in a grin. “Don’t think this means you get the last of the bacon.”_ _ _ _

____Brett rolls his eyes to disguise the fear he just felt. “Like your convalescent ass could stop me,” he mutters._ _ _ _

____“Hey, I’m not dumb. You love me. If I asked you not to, you wouldn’t.”_ _ _ _

____Brett glares at him. Liam’s grin widens slowly._ _ _ _

____“Fuck you,” he says, and Liam laughs, and Brett gets the sense that for that moment - when they’re lying in bed with Liam’s stupid gauzy curtains waving in the breeze and his asshole cat is wriggling in between them - that things are fine. They won’t always be - he knows that - but he feels like he’s got an edge, now._ _ _ _

____After all, he’s got Liam._ _ _ _


End file.
